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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367904">Promise by Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist'>LeastExpected_Archivist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Drama, M/M, Points of View</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2002-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2002-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:00:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>by Orangeblossom Brambleburr</p><p>Set after the breaking of the fellowship, Sam ponders in the moments before sleep.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Least Expected</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Promise by Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at <a href="http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected">Least Expected</a>, which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile">Least Expected collection profile</a>.</p><p>Disclaimer: As much as I would love to claim dear Samwise as my own, he's actually Tolkien's, as is Frodo. The thoughts are mine.<br/>Feedback: Please!<br/>Story Notes: Thanks to Mike for inspiration</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ground was uncomfortable, but they could spare little to pad it. Sam had cleared the worst of the rocks and bracken away, doing what he could to create at least a smooth nest for them.</p><p>He lay now on his side, one arm pillowing Frodo's head, the other wrapped protectively around his chest. It wasn't an easy position; his shoulder ached and his fingers tingled with sleep yet he was comfortable and happy. His master slept, a warm weight pressing into his chest, releasing soft, heated puffs of air onto his bare forearm, Frodo's arm wrapped over his own. So long as Mr. Frodo slept soundly Sam would stay put until his very fingers fell away.</p><p>The wind was chilling but the double layer of elfin-made cloak was tolerably warm and the fabric was as soft as the finest down against their skin. Sam had removed as well his shirt and breeches to cover his master more fully; Frodo had insisted on adding his own clothes to warm Sam, but once he'd fallen asleep Sam had carefully moved all the shed clothing over Frodo. If either of them was to feel the bite of the wind it should not be Mr. Frodo.</p><p>Frodo had even removed his priceless mithril corslet, complaining that its decorative gems pressed into him as he slept. It made Sam quite uncomfortable to think of his master lying so unprotected in the night, even though the stones pressed into his own chest just as painfully. He'd never admit to it; his discomfort was not to be compared to his master's safety.</p><p>A soft whimper riveted his attention; Frodo's face had twisted with worry as his free hand snaked up to grip the ring that hung loosely on its fine silver chain. He twitched and moaned, the sound sending a chill that was half pain and half strange, aching pleasure down Sam's spine.</p><p>"Shhh, Mr. Frodo, rest easy now," he whispered into the curved, pointed ear so close to his lips and tightening his embrace.</p><p>Frodo moved again, pushing and shifting until he'd rolled to face Sam, eyes still closed. He nestled his face into the curve of Sam's neck, murmuring as he wrapped one arm around Sam's back. A sigh, and then he moved no more save the steady rhythm of his deep breaths.</p><p>Sam barely breathed as Frodo moved, holding himself stiffly out of the way until the Hobbit had resettled. Slowly, almost fearfully he closed his arms around the sleeping form, letting the work-hardened fingers of one hand ease into the cool, silky curls that covered his master's head. Over and over he moved through Frodo's hair, stroking tenderly, soothingly as he whispered soft, comforting nonsense, his other hand moving in lazy circles over Frodo's back. Mr. Frodo's rest must not be disturbed by that wretched ring.</p><p>He wondered if Frodo's dreams were as dark and frightening as his own had become; dreams of pain, of Orcs, of torture and blood. He hoped not; if Sam had his way he'd see to it that every one of Frodo's dreams centered on the comforts of home, of Bag End and good food and the sun lying heavy and golden over the green grass. He sighed; the very thought made him homesick.</p><p>His round face tightened. No matter how he longed for his cozy hole and his blooming gardens he would never turn his back on the quest. Or on Mr. Frodo. He'd made a promise, but that was the least of what bound him. It was more precious than his word, more sacred than an oath. It was that Frodo was a part of him, and he could no sooner abandon him as he could tear the flesh from his very bones.</p><p>Gently, he shifted so that he could look into his master's sleeping face. The rather elfin features were relaxed and childlike in slumber, dark, impossibly long lashes brushing his faintly flushed cheeks, feathery dark brows no longer drawn. His lips were pursed slightly, temptingly, and Sam was seized with the desire to press his own lips to them, a brazen impulse that he immediately strove to suppress. It was not his place to take such liberties.</p><p>A bird cawed somewhere above and Sam was again grateful for the elfin cloaks; their ability to conceal was far more useful than their warmth. Spies were ever watchful; Sam longed for the days when the sight of a bird on the wing was pleasing. Involuntarily his arms tightened around his master. He'd do whatever must be done to protect Mr. Frodo, from Sauron himself if it came to that.</p><p>"I'll watch over you, Mr. Frodo, so long as I've breath in me," he whispered. Gingerly he brushed his own lips against Frodo's brow, a ghostly kiss set like a stamp upon his word. Frodo didn't seem to wake but curled more tightly into Sam's arms, one fist still gripping the ring.</p><p>Sam closed his eyes and breathed in his master's salty-sweet scent. "I'll stay with you, there and back again," he breathed, feeling the warm fingers of sleep closing around him. As he began to drift he felt Frodo's arm tighten around him.</p><p>"Thank you," Frodo whispered.</p>
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